Remus
by goodbyeblueskies
Summary: He had the only real friends he had ever known, the best years of his life, thirteen years of anger and doubt and loneliness and an unfathomable tragedy to follow an unfathomable revelation. Harry had lost Sirius once. Lupin had lost him twice.


Disclaimer: You know the drill – they're Jo's.

Author's Note: I think Remus is one of the saddest characters in the series, and if I didn't adore Jo Rowling so much I'd hunt her down and torture her (with Tarantallegra!) for taking Sirius away from him. This is about Harry realizing, to some degree, that Lupin is more than just 1/6 of his Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers to date. Takes place during HBP; no spoilers.

Only the third fanfic I've ever written; there's very little dialogue, but it's the first fanfic I've written with ANY dialogue, so…good luck me?

Harry had once heard that holidays were always the hardest for those who were lonely or had lost someone. For ten years of his life, he had vaguely imagined how different and how much better his birthdays and Christmases and Easters would be if his parents were still alive. But he could not remember anything different and every day at the Dursleys had been miserable anyway. Holidays were just slightly more unbearable; after a while, they became just another day.

Now, however, as he lay in the attic of the Burrow, wide awake in the twilight and staring at the ceiling, he thought that he had never had a lonelier Christmas. Sirius's absence was all around him and within him. He thought back to this holiday just one year ago, to Sirius's delight when Harry and the Weasleys had come to Grimmauld Place. In the silence of the attic it was almost as though he could even hear faint echoes of Sirius singing his Christmas carols. He felt flickers of the same grief and anger that had ripped into him immediately after Sirius had died, but mainly he felt trapped by memories of his godfather, making him feel both restless and also oddly empty. He pulled himself out of bed and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water.

He made his way downstairs, taking care to step quietly so as not to wake one of the Burrow's many inhabitants. He wasn't really very thirsty, he just couldn't bear another minute of laying still, listening to Ron's even breathing and thinking about Sirius. Sleep still felt a long way off. He entered the kitchen and stopped short at the sight of another person already sitting at the table.

Harry had noticed that Lupin had been looking more ragged than ever, but he had obviously been attempting an impression of at least some energy and healthiness around the others. For now, reflected only in a thin slant of moonlight and believing himself to be alone, Lupin was slumped over, looking painfully weak and dejected, his shabby clothes hanging as shapelessly on him as Dudley's clothes had on Harry when he was younger. There was an empty glass on the table in front of him, around which both of his hands were wrapped loosely, and he was staring at it unblinkingly. His expression was quite as blank and hollow as it had been when he had stared into the fire the night before. He looked up sharply as Harry moved in the shadows of the kitchen. Harry quickly stepped into a patch of moonlight, and his former professor relaxed, turning his attention once more to the glass in front of him.

"Don't mind me, Harry, sit down," Lupin said quietly, his voice hoarse and trembling slightly. Harry took the seat directly across from him and, uncomfortably aware of Lupin's eyes _not_ on him but still vacantly fixed on his empty glass, tried to glance casually around the tiny kitchen. When he looked back, Lupin finally raised his head.

He looked far worse than he had seemed to Harry earlier, and he wondered how he could not have noticed. Several healing scars stood out on Lupin's paper white cheeks – perhaps his coloring was a result of seeing him only in this pale moonlight – and his eyes were red and bloodshot. Then he filled his empty glass from his wand tip, and Harry realized that he had been drinking – and perhaps crying, as well.

Seeing him like this, Harry felt a pang of pity and despair. Harry had never known a Lupin who did not look shabby and peaked, but despite the appearance he had proven himself to be strong and powerful. Now, Harry was quite sure he was as feeble as seemed. Lupin had still not looked away.

"You do look so much like James," Lupin whispered, and though his eyes were dry, his voice was thick – he had indeed been crying. Harry suddenly wished he had not come downstairs. He was not used to this show of emotion; Lupin was always calm, even after Sirius had fallen through the veil seven months ago, though Harry had heard the grief and strain in his voice that night. The thought of Sirius pressed down on Harry; he never felt pain anymore when his mind turned to his dead godfather, more that the image of him was closing in around him and he couldn't breathe. Was that how Lupin felt? Just like Harry, Lupin had lost James and Lily…and Sirius. When he thought about his dead best friends, did he feel as though his mind and his heart were fighting to break free, trying not to suffocate under the pressure of love and memories? Or did he still feel the pain, trying to fix the dull ache in his heart with a glass of whiskey in his hand and a façade of control in public? When Harry thought about his parents, he had a flash of green light and voices that he would always link with cold and terror; with Sirius he had had letters and untouched dreams of possibilities. Lupin had had the only real friends he had ever known, the best years of his life, thirteen years of anger and doubt and loneliness and an unfathomable tragedy to follow an unfathomable revelation. Harry had lost Sirius once. Lupin had lost him twice.

The silence at the Burrow's small kitchen table was neither awkward nor comfortable. Harry stared at the man across from him. From the moment Harry and Sirius had left the Shrieking Shack, now nearly three years ago, he had looked at his godfather and thought of his father. He knew he could not get much closer to James than his best friend. But Sirius, though clearly a mischievous kindred spirit, was not James's only best friend. There had been four Marauders; James was his father, Sirius was his godfather, Peter was the traitor. Harry had overlooked calm, quiet Lupin, who he had first known as a teacher and who had now resumed staring at his glass. It was empty again.

"Er…Professor Lu-" Harry began, gazing down at the table, his voice also sounding slightly thick.

"Remus."

Harry started, looking up. "Huh?"

"_Remus_," he repeated through slightly gritted teeth, gripping his glass so that his already pale fingers turned even whiter. His gaze didn't move. Harry blinked, forgetting what he had been about to say.

Moments passed in silence. Remus left the table first. A few minutes later, Harry walked silently up to bed.


End file.
